


broken days in between

by smileymikey



Category: Outer Banks (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:13:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25228879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smileymikey/pseuds/smileymikey
Summary: “Please?” Kie says, and JJ turns to her properly for the first time since he came in. “You’d be doing me a really big favour. I only need you for a night.”“A night? I’m not a fucking rent boy!”“Do you need to hold the meditative crystals?” John B says.JJ says incredulously, “I don’t need your fucking meditative crystals! I’m not pretending to be some random chick’s boyfriend because I’m the biggest disappointment you know!”or, Kiara asks JJ to pretend to be her boyfriend for a night.
Relationships: JJ/Kiara (Outer Banks)
Comments: 33
Kudos: 178





	broken days in between

**Author's Note:**

> me, not using a title from 18 by anarbour or bad enough for you by atl: im not like other girls  
> also me: literally writing a fake dating! au

“So, I have a slightly awkward favour to ask,” says Kie.

*

It started late last Thursday on Kie’s floor, as most things in Kie’s life tend to do, with Sarah going through her alcohol under the guise of moral support. If anything, it was more of terrible enabling, because Kie had an 8am the next morning and the last thing she should’ve been doing was drinking, which she told Sarah as soon as she walked in, but Sarah has a habit of getting people drunk regardless. (Kie thinks it’s the face. She looks so sweet you wouldn’t guess that she’s actually a menace under it.) Either way, by the time eleven rolls around, she and Sarah are on the kitchen floor, feet propped up against the cupboards, staring up at the yellow peeling linoleum of the ceiling, a half-finished bottle of wine by their heads.

“Hypothetically,” Sarah says, as she appraises her list, “what crimes would you be okay with committing?”

“Destruction of government property,” Kie says immediately. (She has thought about this a lot.) “Shoplifting, but only from chain corporations. Maybe mild vandalism if it were in the pursuit of human rights.”

Sarah frowns. “I don’t know if any of these are really frowned upon in high society.”

Kie squints up at her from where her head is in her lap. “What if the vandalism was to, like, a revered monument?”

“That’s too specific,” Sarah says, “they’d want to know which one.”

Kie ponders this. “I’d do it, you know.”

“Trust me, I know,” Sarah says, “which is why we’re _not_ doing it.” There’s the sound of scribbling. “Falling pregnant?”

“They’d want evidence and a father.”

“You’re right.” Sarah sighs. “You’d think disappointing your family would be easier than this.”

“There must be something we can do,” Kie laments. “It shouldn’t be this hard. There has to be something that would make them shit rocks.”

She can almost feel Sarah’s wince. “You put it so delicately.”

“I just want to shock them, you know? Show them that I’m not like them, and they should stop trying to make me.”

Sarah strokes her hair sympathetically. “Can’t you just tell them?”

Kie scoffs. “That’s a coward’s way out.”

“That’s how I did it.”

“Your father killed a man.”

“Semantics.” But there’s a sigh from above her, and when Kie glances up she sees Sarah chewing her lip, her expression thoughtful. Her pen taps against her notepad, right next to Kie’s ear. “What if you brought someone home?”

Kie frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Like, a really bad boyfriend. Someone with terrible manners and no money who, like, smokes at the table and comes from a line of druggies, or something. Someone your parents would absolutely despise.”

Kie sits up. This idea... actually has merit. “You think that would work?”

She turns to Sarah, who has no business looking so sharkish when she has goddamn flowers in her hair. She is either the poster child or the very antithesis of a killer’s daughter. She raises her eyebrows at her. “Kie,” she says, “I think it would _absolutely_ work. You want to give your parents something to disapprove of? Go to dinner with them and bring along a goddamn train wreck.”

Kie mulls over the idea. It’s not a bad idea at all. In fact, the more she thinks about it, the more it seems like a fucking _great_ idea. She’s been wanting her parents to get off her case for the longest time: she’s sick of their snobbishness, and their holier-than-thou attitudes towards anyone who makes less money than them. It’s why she escaped to The Cut the second she graduated, to see more than just the manicured lawns and nuclear families of Figure Eight. Even having Sarah as a friend was something of a stain to her parents, and Sarah’s _from_ Figure Eight: granted, the whole murderer-as-a-dad thing is sure to be a sore spot for anyone, regardless of classism, but still. She can’t imagine what would happen if she brought someone like what Sarah described home. Her parents wouldn’t just shit rocks, they’d probably shit an entire mountain range. It would be named something like Kiara Always Goes Too Far For A Point. She wouldn’t even be mad about it.

There’s just one thing. “Who would I even take?” Kie says. “I don’t know anyone like that.”

Sarah just taps her nose. “Leave that to me,” she says. “I think I know just the guy.”

*

In the doorway, Sarah’s boyfriend John B grins at her. “You must be Sarah’s friend! Kiara, was it?”

“I go by Kie,” Kie says, “but yes. Did she tell you I was coming?”

“Did she ever!” John B says, and for the first time Kie notices he is wearing a neck scarf but not a shirt. There is also a dent in the wall by his head roughly the size of a fist. This is exactly the kind of person Kie can see Sarah dating. “A favour, you say? Two quick things: one, we don’t have any sugar, because our cupboard has broken, and two, our showerhead is technically a milk carton.”

If she had any doubts left about coming here that hadn’t already disappeared in the wake of John B also wearing _boat shoes_ , they’re definitely gone now. She absolutely made the right choice. “I don’t need sugar or a shower. Or anything like that.”

John B visibly deflates with relief. “That’s good,” he says, “because our fridge has also broken, and we haven’t had hot water for two days. Do you want to come in?”

“Sure,” Kie says, and steps inside. If she thought the dent in the wall was a promising sign it’s nothing compared to the inside of the apartment, which looks like a small bomb has just gone off inside it. She thinks there are actually boxers hanging from the ceiling. The television is propped up on a crate, there are not one but two other holes in the walls, both much larger and looking like instead of a hand they could fit a whole person in them, and there is what looks like a baggie of weed on the table. Kie tries not to appear too thrilled. This is perfect.

John B actually looks a little embarrassed as he shows her in, hurrying ahead of her and scooping up things from the floor, even reaching up and plucking the boxers from the light fitting. He bundles them all in his arms, and the gets a panicked look in his eyes when he realises that he has nowhere to put them. “Sorry about the mess,” he says, after a pregnant pause, in which Kie has had the time to scope out every possible mess in the apartment. “Do you want anything to eat, drink?”

“Uh, no thank you,” Kie says.

There’s a boy lying on the couch in the middle of the room, with a textbook in his lap. He looks up when he hears them walk in. “That’s good,” he says, grinning crookedly at her, “I don’t think we have anything we could feed you.”

“Didn’t you go grocery shopping?” John B asks him.

“It’s JJ’s turn on the rotation.”

“I thought we agreed that that was merely a formality.”

“JJ needs to learn that there are consequences to his laziness.”

“JJ will literally sit in his own filth to prove a point,” John B argues, before seemingly remembering that Kie is there. “Oh, sorry. Kiara, this is Pope, one of my roommates. Pope, this is Kiara, she’s Sarah’s friend.”

“I go by Kie,” she says automatically. “Hi.”

“Hey,” Pope says, grinning, and offers his hand. Kie accepts, trying not to show how impressed she is. She respects a good handshake. “What brings you here?”

“I sort of needed a favour.”

“Now I’m intrigued,” he says, and sits up, closing his textbook. “What can we do for you?”

Kie explains the situation as best as she can. She tries not to look too intimidated: up until the door had opened, she had been reasonably confident in her plan, and anyone Sarah likes enough to date has to be nice enough, at least. But it wasn’t until she stepped into the apartment and was greeted by two very attractive boys that she realised she was essentially prepositioning a room full of men to see who would want to date her for an evening. Her throat dries up even at the thought, and she has cough a little to get her words going, but thankfully neither John B nor Pope seem disgusted at the idea. In fact, they both look quite amused.

“So essentially,” Pope says, when she’s finished, “you want someone to be as annoying as possible while pretending to be your boyfriend?”

“Essentially,” Kie says.

“I can do it,” John B offers.

But Pope scoffs. “You wear boat shoes, man. You’re not exactly an insult to the upper-class.”

John B looks down at himself, like he’s just registering for the first time today what he’s wearing. Kie can’t say she’s ever seen anything quite like it, but she thinks she’s seen variations on the Figure Eight boys before, and she knows it won’t quite be enough to get properly under her parents’ skin. Besides, while it’s strictly platonic, she’s not sure how comfortable she feels purloining her best friend’s boyfriend for a night, even though she’s confident neither Sarah nor John B would mind. “Oh,” he says. “You’re right.”

Kie turns to Pope. “Can you do it?”

Pope shrugs apologetically. “I’m a shit actor. And I’m doing a degree in microbiology, I’m not sure that’s the kind of thing you want to use to scare off your parents. Unless they’re physicists.”

“Not physicists, no.”

Then, at that moment, a door down the hall creaks open, a shaggy blond head pokes through, followed by a long golden body. “Jesus Christ,” it mutters, as it skulks out, “could you be any louder?”

“JJ!” John B says, sounding pleased. “Good to see you emerge from your cave, man.”

The boy, JJ, flips him off tiredly, and leans against the wall. Kie has had enough creepy men say gross things about her ass walking down the street for her to be comfortable ogling him, but something about the smooth skin of his bare torso, the casual grace he exudes as he moves, like an alley cat, is almost magnetic, and she finds it’s hard to pull her eyes away. “Whatever,” he mutters, and knuckles at his eyes. For the first time, he seems to realise that they have company, and his sharp eyes zero critically in on her. “Who’s this?”

“This is Kiara,” John B says. “Sarah’s friend.”

“I go by Kie,” Kie says. “Uh, hey.”

He ignores her. “What’s going on?”

“We’re helping Kie find a fake boyfriend,” Pope says. “She needs someone to be a disaster at dinner with her parents. John B can’t do it because he dresses like a Figure Eight bastard and I’m too smart, so we’re just trying to think who...” He trails off, and looks at John B, who looks back at him. Kie sees the exact moment something clicks in his mind, because then, in almost alarming synchrony, they both look over to JJ. “Who could work,” Pope finishes slowly.

JJ’s eyes flicker, and he straightens. “Why are you looking at me?”

“JJ,” John B begins, “you know how I never make you go grocery shopping?”

JJ seems to have the sense to know that wherever this is going probably won’t bode well for him. “I do laundry,” he argues.

“Okay, barely,” Pope says, “and the last time you did you ruined all my white shirts because you put a red sock in there.”

“That was John B!”

“But you think it would be safe to say that you owe us a few favours,” John B prods.

JJ is already beginning to retreat to his room. “I’m leaving.”

“No!” John B yelps, panicked. “I think you could really lend a hand to our friend Kiara here!”

“It’s Kie,” Kie corrects quietly, though she doubts anyone hears.

“I don’t have any money to lend her,” JJ says.

“That actually works perfectly,” she says.

He stares at them for a few moments, before it finally seems to click what he’s going to have to do, and his face twists. “No fucking way,” he says immediately, “I’m not fucking pretending to be your _boyfriend_ —”

“But you’d be perfect!” Pope says.

“Why, because I’m not smart like you, or well-dressed like John B?”

John B actually looks a little touched at that. “You think I’m well-dressed?”

JJ stares at him in disbelief. “What the fuck? No! I’m not doing this!”

“Please?” Kie says, and JJ turns to her properly for the first time since he came in. “You’d be doing me a really big favour. I only need you for a night.”

“A night? I’m not a fucking rent boy!”

“Do you need to hold the meditative crystals?” John B says.

JJ says incredulously, “I don’t need your fucking meditative crystals! I’m not pretending to be some random chick’s boyfriend because I’m the biggest disappointment you know!”

Kie’s eyebrows lift. “Random chick?” but JJ is evidently not done, because he whirls on her.

“Who even _are_ you? What, did you come down to The Cut to collect some miscreant to scare off your parents? All for what, charity? Is this your form of rebellion? Get the fuck out of here.”

John B looks absolutely mortified, and Pope’s eyes are wide. They both glance at her, afraid. They look like they would not blame her in the slightest if she turned on her heel and marched right out of here.

She’s half-tempted, honestly. Who does he think he is, speaking to her like that? She’s wasted enough time on assholes in her classes who think they can impress her by treating her like shit for her to let another one into her life like this. But there’s a reason she was so desperate to escape Figure Eight, and it’s not because she preferred the food.

“Firstly,” she says, “I go to school here. I’m not just passing through to pick up the worst sad-sack I can find, I actually _live_ here, so maybe you’re the one who needs to get the fuck out with your assumptions. You don’t know anything about me.” JJ’s face doesn’t change, but his jaw sets. She’s won that round, at least. “Secondly, this isn’t charity, or my ‘form of rebellion’ or whatever. My parents aren’t good people and I need to get away from them, and this is the only way I can think of doing that doesn’t involve them institutionalising me, or me having to commit an actual crime. I just need someone for a night, and then that’s _it_.”

There is a very pause. JJ’s face is inscrutable.

Finally, he says, carefully, “What’s in it for me?”

“I’ll pay you.”

“How much?”

“One hundred dollars.”

“Two hundred,” he says, “and I’ll consider it.”

“Absolutely not,” she says.

JJ holds her gaze coolly. “Two hundred,” he says, “or I’m not coming.”

She can see from his face that this is his ultimatum, and he’s not going to be budging from it anytime soon. Normally, she’d fight. She wants to, now.

But there’s something in his eyes makes her pause. She’s already pushed this too far. “Fine,” she says. “See you at eight next week, then.”

“Can’t wait,” JJ says sardonically.

As she leaves, she hears John B whisper to Pope, “told you! The power of the meditative crystal.”

“I think you’ve just smoked a lot of weed,” Pope whispers back, and then the door closes, and she’s left standing outside the apartment wondering what the hell she’s just signed herself up for.

*

Kie always likes to prepare for contingencies, so she texts JJ to meet her twenty minutes before her parents arrive, to account for any lateness. This is why she’s surprised when she shows up to find that he’s already there, leaning against the wall, smoking a cigarette.

“JJ,” she says, surprise evident in her voice, as she approaches. “Hey.”

He raises his eyebrows at her in greeting. “Hey.” His voice is gravelled with smoke.

She hesitates, and then comes forward, leaning against the wall next to him. Wordlessly, he offers her the cigarette, which she accepts with only a moment’s hesitation. She doesn’t smoke much, only socially, and she’s trying to quit even that because she knows how much Sarah hates it, but it provides a balm to her jittery nerves. Besides, it’ll probably help if she and JJ walk in smelling of smoke. It’ll in the very least be another check on the list of reasons why her parents will disapprove.

They stand there for a few moments, passing the cigarette between them, before JJ says, “Where are your parents?”

Kie’s fingers twist in her dress. “We’re a bit early.”

She risks a glance up at him, and finds his expression impassive. His eyes are unreadable, though by the way he leans his head back against the wall, rolling it so he’s staring out over the boardwalk, and takes a deep drag of the cigarette, she knows she’s fucked up. “Right,” he says. “You thought I was going to be late.”

“I’m sorry,” she says.

“Whatever.”

It’s not, though. She curls her hands into fists. “I know that’s kind of shitty,” she admits. “I just wanted this to work.”

“Just because I’m a disappointment in every part of life doesn’t mean I’m a flake, Kie.”

“I know,” she says, “I’m sorry.”

He sighs. “What’s done is done.”

He passes her the cigarette, and she takes a drag. When she exhales, the smoke against the night sky looks like a smudge in a painting, like a cloud. “You’re not a disappointment,” she says, quietly.

“That’s why I’m here, isn’t it? To disappoint?” His voice is razor-sharp.

“Yeah, but—” She tries to find the words. “That’s not the whole reason why.”

“You rejected John B and Pope and chose me, I think that’s exactly why.”

“I didn’t mean it personally,” she says, in a small voice.

JJ just shakes his head. “Whatever.”

She fucked up. She really fucked up.

The silence between them is so tangible she thinks she can almost feel it, settling around them like a fog. JJ seems unaffected, accepting the cigarette back and taking a deep drag of it, but there’s a tightness in his jaw that Kie recognises from the week before in his apartment, when John B first asked him to help her out. Now she’s thinking it over, it does look really, really shitty. She should’ve just gone with John B, and told him to cut up a T-shirt and wear sneakers instead. The fact that she had dismissed the others for being too squeaky clean and then picked JJ just from looking at him is sort of really fucking awful.

Jesus.

She watches him out of the corner of her eye as he flicks the ash from the butt of the cigarette to the ground, brings it back to his lips. He seems content to just wait there in silence, but Kie is twitchy when it gets too quiet, and she’s always been one to face confrontation head on. After what feels like years, she breaks, and says, “Should we make up a story?”

He glances at her. “What, like one word at a time?”

She frowns. “What?”

“Like, we each take turns saying a word?”

“No, like for our relationship. To make it believable.”

She’s not sure, but she thinks JJ actually blushes. “Right, yeah.”

She can’t help it. “Do you want to make up a story, JJ?”

“Fuck off.”

“I’ll start: once.”

“Let’s talk about the relationship,” he mutters. “Jesus Christ, you’re annoying.”

“The correct answer was upon,” she says, but she leaves it, because she recognises that this olive branch is still paper-thin. “Uh... well, firstly: where did we meet?”

He takes another deep drag, and then passes her the cigarette. “Are we going for realism or shock?”

“What do you mean?”

“As in, am I a friend of a friend, or am I your weed dealer?”

Kie chokes on the smoke. “Jesus,” she rasps, “my parents will shit bricks if you say that.”

“Isn’t that what you’re aiming for?”

“Yeah, but— _Jesus_. No, we can’t do that.”

“So, a friend of a friend.”

“We met through John B and Sarah. Instant attraction?”

JJ frowns. “What?”

“Did we fall in love at first sight or gradually?”

“I don’t fucking know. First sight?”

“That’s good,” Kie decides, “propelled by our primal sex drives.”

He rolls his eyes, takes the cigarette back, and takes another drag. “Jesus, you’re weird.”

“It’s good! Makes it so our relationship sounds like it’s purely based off animal attraction. My parents will hate that.”

JJ raises his eyebrows. “Catholics?”

“Don’t really believe in divorce,” she says.

“Ouch.”

“Yeah.” Kie swallows, a little, the mood suddenly sobering. “They, uh, pretend around me.”

“Oh,” JJ says. “Sucks.”

“Yeah.”

He passes her the cigarette.

“It’s just,” she says, “they play at this happy couple, but they don’t share a bed anymore.” She sighs, and leans her head back against the wall. “They’re just so fucking obsessed with social niceties, you know? Having a good reputation, and whatever. Like, a divorce isn’t that shameful, our next-door-neighbour’s remarried, but—I don’t know. They want to just keep perpetuating this idea of them as this picture-perfect family and it just makes me sick.”

“Is that why I’m here?” JJ says. “To ‘taint their reputation’?”

Kie exhales, and glances at him. His expression is unreadable, but he’s not looking at her, and his voice is acerbic.

“I’m sorry,” she says softly. He opens his mouth but she cuts him off. “No, seriously, I am. You’re not—you’re not here to taint them, or whatever. I didn’t mean to use you as a token of—I don’t know, the lower class. That was all really shitty of me.”

“Yeah,” he says, “it was.”

“I’m really sorry, JJ.”

“Whatever.” But at least now he doesn’t sound so bitter. He takes the cigarette back and takes a deep drag, and when he pulls it away from his mouth to exhale the hard line of his jaw has softened, a little. “What else?”

She frowns. “What?”

“For our story. What else?”

“Oh.” She tilts her head, thinking, and her eyes absently scan the boardwalk. It’s not until they fall upon a very, very familiar car that she realises what’s happening. “Oh, shit, my parents just arrived. Quick.”

She grabs his hand and they quickly duck into the alleyway, JJ stubbing out the cigarette on the wall. Kie peers around the corner, watches as her parents climb out of the car and approach the front door. They’re both dressed to the nines, her mother in shoes that probably cost the same amount as her college tuition, and her dad on her arm like an accessory. Even in the dark, Kie can make out Anna’s pinched look as Mike helps her out of the car, and then the way it smooths over like plasticine as they are greeted by the maître d', laughing like they’re the world’s happiest couple. Something in her stomach twists at the sight of it all.

She turns back into the alleyway. “Jesus Christ,” she says. She looks at JJ and emphasises, “Jesus _fucking_ Christ.”

“Kie,” JJ says, “it’ll be fine. Stop fucking freaking out.”

“Fuck you,” she says, half-hearted. She peers back around, but her parents have disappeared inside. “Okay, I think they’re seated. Come on, let’s go.”

They creep out and head to the front doors, where the maître d' is stood in his tuxedo, looking for all purposes like a rotund penguin. When he spots them, his face splits into a pleasant smile. “Hello, sir, madame! Do you have a reservation?”

“Carerra?” Kie says. “I think my parents just arrived.”

He consults his list. “Ah, yes, right here! If you’ll follow me.”

With a wave of his hand, he leads them deeper into the restaurant, picking his way through the crush of the tables. After a few moments he pauses, and gestures with a graceful hand to a booth tucked at the back, where Kie can see her parents sat side-by-side perusing the menu. “Right here, madame,” he says. “Have a good meal!”

He floats away, and Kie and JJ are left standing in the middle of the restaurant. Kie doesn’t allow herself to properly think too hard before she grabs JJ’s hand. If she overthinks this now it’ll all go to shit, and she needs this to be perfect.

Mike spots her first as they pick their way across the room, his face forming a polite smile at the sight of her. Then his eyes shift to JJ next to her, connected by the hand, so out of place amongst the finery of the restaurant, and something in his expression falters a little. Good, she thinks grimly. She turns back to glance at JJ. “You ready?” she says.

He simply raises his eyebrows at that, which she interprets as a yes. Steeling herself, she turns back around, and marches towards the table.

Anna stands to greet her as they approach, taking her hand and brushing air kisses to her cheeks. “Hello, Kiara, darling,” she says. “It’s good to see you.”

“You, too,” Kie says. She knows her hand is going clammy in JJ’s, but thankfully he doesn’t let it go, instead just tightens his grip.

Anna presses a smile out at her, before she turns to JJ, and her expression shutters a little, like it’s not been written in her code how to compute this. “And who’s this?” she says, with a cheer so plastic Kie’s sure even JJ can tell it’s false.

Showtime. “This is JJ,” Kie says. “My boyfriend.”

Both her parents’ faces grow a little sour. “Boyfriend?” Anna says tightly.

“You didn’t tell us you were bringing a boyfriend, Kiara,” says Mike.

“It’s new,” Kie says. “Hope you don’t mind.”

She pulls out a chair for herself, watches as JJ does the same. Mike startles a little, his arm pausing in its half-aborted move to offer a handshake; JJ simply raises an eyebrow at it, unimpressed, and Mike withdraws hastily, clearing his throat.

“Let’s sit down,” he says to Anna, and they both do, clearly thrown. A sadistic part of Kie is glad. She wants this to be an uncomfortable as it possibly can be.

Before they can speak any further, a waiter comes around, asking for their orders. Mike immediately falls back into his rhythm, smoothly pronouncing all the dishes with a perfect Italian accent, and ordering for Anna as well, who smiles at him. The perfect couple. It makes Kie want to be sick. Then the waiter turns to them.

“And what can I get you?” he asks.

“The prime steak,” JJ says, which is the most expensive thing on the menu. Kie stifles a smile at the way Mike’s eyes tighten. “Thanks.”

“I’ll have the mushroom risotto,” Kie says, and hands him the menus. Before he can disappear, though, JJ says, “Sorry, can I also get a beer?”

“A beer?” The waiter blinks owlishly at him, darting a look to Mike and Anna. “May I ask how old you are, sir?”

“Twenty.”

“We can’t serve alcohol to minors,” the waiter says, “apologies,” and then drifts off. JJ doesn’t seem disappointed, instead just shrugs and folds his arms. He sticks out like a sore thumb here. Not even necessarily because of his appearance, though Kie doesn’t doubt that’s a contributing factor (cargo shorts and an old band shirt with the sleeves cut off – she is loath to admit that it’s also sort of fucking working for him) but just in demeanour. He slouches, keeps everything tucked in to himself, expression cool and unreadable. He sits like a fortress in a room where people wear their salaries on their sleeves, through the food they’ve ordered and the clothes they’re wearing. Kie feels an inexplicable feeling rise in her throat just looking at him, and she has to turn back to her plate so it doesn’t spill out.

For a few moments after the waiter leaves, there is stilted silence. Neither Kie nor JJ make any move to break it. Kie silently counts in her head, watching as her parents both exchange surreptitious looks. She can practically read their thoughts: _underage drinking?_ After what feels like an eternity, Anna clears her throat. “So,” she says, “Kiara. Do you want to introduce us to your boyfriend?”

Kie glances at him. He looks back at her boredly. “Well,” she says, “this is JJ.”

JJ salutes, a touch away from sarcastic. Anna’s smile becomes a little forced.

“Where did you and Kiara meet?” Mike asks politely.

“Friend of a friend.”

“Sarah’s boyfriend is his roommate,” Kie explains.

“Ah, Sarah.” The lesser of two evils in this situation. Sarah will have a field day. “How is she?”

“Good,” she says. “Still the daughter of a killer.”

Anna’s mouth purses. Mike says, pinched, “Don’t be difficult, Kiara.”

She takes a sip of her water. “Sorry.” She doesn’t mean it. By JJ’s smirk, he’s noticed.

“JJ,” Mike says, “what do you do? Are you studying?”

“Nope,” JJ says.

Anna’s eyebrows lift. “Oh, are you taking a gap year?”

“I’m not going to college.”

Both her parents look at him like he has just admitted he regularly commits tax fraud. “Really,” Anna says. “Why not? College is certainly very beneficial for breaking into the workplace, I’m sure you know.”

“Sure,” JJ says, with a shrug. “I just don’t care.”

Anna glances at Mike, lost. Mike takes over. “But, don’t you have any careers in mind?” he prods. “For the future?”

“I’m interning as a carpenter, so probably that.” He cracks his knuckles, loudly, and Anna winces at every single one. “Jesus, it’s stuffy in here. I’m dying for a smoke. Baby, do you have my pack of cigs?” This is to Kie, who blinks a little, her mind jaggedly catching on _baby_. The strong-willed, independent woman in her reminds her that it is a condescending term of endearment coined by men who wanted to exert their power by reminding women that they are inferior and need protecting, but it’s all overshadowed by the lizard, primal part of her brain, which has sort of just gone _hnnngggg_. “Babe?” JJ says, and Kie realises she’s completely zoned out. She shakes her head to reorient herself. Jesus, she needs to get a grip.

By the smirk on JJ’s face, she knows he’s noticed. Fucker.

“Sorry, _honey_ ,” she says, sweetly, “I must’ve left them back at your place.”

JJ just dimples at her with a saccharine smile. “Don’t worry, then,” he says, and swings an arm over her shoulders. Fuck, he smells really good. “We’ll just get them when we go back there later.”

Both Mike and Anna are wearing matching expressions of barely-concealed disgust. “Right,” Anna says, faintly.

Before anyone can speak further, the waiter returns with their meals. Privately, Kie is glad for the break in conversation, and leans forward to pour herself another cup of water, as he slides plates across the table: she’s feeling very hot all of a sudden, like someone has just cranked the heating up. She takes a sip of water, trying to cool the flush in her cheeks.

The mushroom risotto lands in front of her, and she glances over to see her parents both frowning over at JJ, who is already sawing into his steak like it’s still alive and he’s trying to kill it. She suppresses a smile at the distasteful way Mike is staring at him, as though it is taking everything in to reach over and cut the steak for him.

“Kiara,” Anna says tightly, and when Kie looks up at her she’s giving her a pointed look. “You’re thinking of becoming a marine biologist, aren’t you, honey?”

Kie frowns. “Uh, yeah.”

“Well...” Anna looks like she’s trying to find the best way to say it. “Are you sure that you both have each other’s best interests at heart? Clearly you have... very different plans for the future.”

“I’ll support JJ no matter what he does,” Kie says.

JJ hums in affirmation through a mouthful of food. Mike actually dabs at his forehead with his napkin.

“Besides,” Kie says, “a carpenter is a good profession.”

“Jesus was a carpenter,” JJ says.

“Right,” Anna says.

Mike says, “What do your parents do, then, JJ?”

JJ’s hand stills. “What do you mean?”

“Well, what careers are they pursuing?”

For the first time all evening, JJ looks a little anxious. He swallows his food what looks like painfully early, and then sets his knife and fork down. “Uh,” he says, “my dad’s a mechanic.”

“And your mother?”

“Dead.”

Mike goes very pale. Kie snaps, “Nice one, Dad.”

“I didn’t know,” Mike hisses. He tugs at his collar a little, his face flushed.

Anna quickly jumps in. “A mechanic, you said, JJ?”

JJ just nods.

“Whereabouts does he work?”

“Out of our garage.”

“And you live in... The Cut?” Anna’s mouth twists a little, even as she says it.

“Yeah.”

“How nice.” Anna says ‘nice’ like one would talk about a dog who just threw up on their best shoes. “Well, you know our Kiara has her sights set very high. We talked about securing you a job in Alberta’s lab, didn’t we, honey?” To JJ, she says, “Alberta is the sister of one of my co-workers, she’s got her own lab up in Figure Eight.”

“That’s nice,” says JJ.

“Mom,” Kie says, “not now, please.”

Anna widens her eyes. “Why not, honey? I’m just making polite conversation. Besides, it’s good to think about these sorts of things, you know? You need to think about what you two are going to do when you graduate.”

Kie’s hand tightens around her fork. “Why’s that?”

Anna looks a little flustered. “Well... Kiara, honey, you’re not staying in The Cut once you graduate, are you? You’re coming back to Figure Eight.”

“What’s wrong with The Cut?” JJ says. His voice is deceptively calm. He could probably slit someone’s throat with it like that.

Even Anna has enough sense to realise that she’s said something wrong. “Oh, nothing, of course.”

“No, there is,” JJ pushes, “or you’d be okay with Kiara staying.”

“Well... Kiara, you’re _not_ staying, though, are you, honey?”

“Would it be so wrong if I was?” Kie says.

Anna blinks owlishly at her. Mike says, “but honey, what about the internship?”

“There are labs here.”

“Are you trying to spite us?”

“Spite?” Kie repeats.

JJ says, “What’s so wrong with The Cut that you don’t want your daughter living here?”

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t speak to me that way,” Mike says. JJ doesn’t break his gaze.

Finally, Anna sighs. “Kiara, darling,” she says, and then she’s reaching across the table to take her hand. “You know we’ll support you in whatever you decide to do with your life. But... the Cut? I know you’re... finding things a little difficult, with your father and I, but you don’t need to act out like this.”

“This isn’t me acting out,” Kie says, stung. “I want to stay here. The university has a brilliant programme that’s helping remove plastic from the ocean. You know that’s what I want to do. It has nothing to do with you.”

“Don’t speak to your mother that way,” Mike says. “She’s just looking out for you. The Cut is... full of crooks, and hoodlums, you know, and—”

“Like me, you mean,” JJ says.

Mike’s eyes flicker. “Well, I didn’t—”

“Crooks and hoodlums like me,” JJ repeats. “And my lack of ambition, and my working-class mechanic father, is that what you mean?”

Mike and Anna exchange a look, and suddenly Kie realises just how little she wants to be here. She puts her fork down, loudly, even though she still has half of her food left. “I think we should leave,” she says to JJ.

“Yeah,” JJ says, “me too.”

They both stand up, Mike and Anna protesting behind them. Kie ignores every single word, takes JJ’s hand a little more aggressively than maybe she means, and marches straight out, without so much of a second glance. Her heart is pounding somewhere in her ears, suddenly so angry, and it takes everything in her to just keep walking, and not turn back around and push a fork right into their arrogant, elitist faces.

“Kie,” JJ says lowly, urgently, but she ignores him, just keeps moving until they’re out of the restaurant. The fresh air is like a balm on her frazzled nerves, tinged with salt and sand, but it’s not enough. She curls her hands into fists to stop herself from punching something. “Kie?”

She turns to face him. In the dark, his expression is angry, concerned, anxious, and over his shoulder she can see right into the restaurant, dimly lit, suddenly looking so fucking small compared to how it did when she first arrived, and in the very back, she can see her parents, watching them with wide eyes, hands paused over their food. They haven’t moved.

“Kie,” JJ says again, harder, and her eyes flicker back to meet his. They look inky in the night. “Are you okay?”

 _Fuck it_ , Kie thinks viciously, and before she properly think she curls a hand into his shirt and pulls him into a searing, angry kiss, that shoots her up from head to toe. For a few moments, JJ is frozen against her lips, and she’s just about to pull away when his hands fold over her hips, like he’s trying to curl them into her flesh so he can touch her skeleton, and he kisses her back, hot, urgent, pissed off, licking into her mouth in a way that makes her toes curl in her shoes. Her hands come to his shoulder, one finds its way into his hair, and for a few moments all she can think of is the salt in her nose and the feeling of JJ’s mouth against hers, his body against hers, in the night, right in full view of her parents.

When he pulls back, his eyes are wide, his mouth red and flushed. His hands haven’t disconnected from her hips, yet, like his body is coming alive out of sync. She finds her hands can’t move from his hair, either.

Breathlessly, she says, “Let’s go home.”

And JJ just nods. “Okay,” he says, sounding a little winded. “Let’s go home.”

*

“So,” JJ says, “your parents fucking suck.”

Kie snorts mirthlessly, peeling a gherkin off her burger. “Yeah,” she says.

“No, like, really,” JJ says. “Fucking hell. They’re assholes.”

“Trust me, I know.” She closes the burger again, but doesn’t bring it to her mouth, just picking at the sesame seeds on the top of the bun. They had stopped at a McDonalds on the way back to JJ’s apartment, to make up for the fact neither of them had even managed half of their meals back at the restaurant, and are now sat on the wall just outside of it. Kie’s lost track of the time by now: she thinks it’s probably just passed midnight, though she can’t be sure. Wryly, she adds, “Not a murderer, though.”

“That’s a fucking stupid benchmark,” JJ says, and Kie glances at him. “My dad wasn’t a murderer either. He still sucked ass. You don’t have to kill someone to be a shitty person.”

“What did your dad do?”

“Hit me a few times.”

Kie stares at the street ahead of her and feels like the world’s biggest dumbass. “Oh, shit,” she says.

He seems to know what she’s thinking. “This doesn’t change anything.”

“ _Jesus_ , JJ,” she says, “how can you _stand_ me?”

“You weren’t the one hitting me.”

She gives him a look.

“It’s all relative,” he says, “you know? Your parents are shitty people. Maybe objectively my dad was shittier and maybe objectively Sarah’s dad was even shittier than that, but you’re still allowed to dislike them.”

“I just,” she says, “I complained to you about them and made you sit in front of them like a show monkey like we were facing a death sentence because they’re insensitive and your dad used to _hit_ you? Jesus, I suck.”

“No you don’t,” he says. “Besides, I got a steak out of it. I’ve never had steak before.”

“Was it worth it?”

JJ thinks. In the night, his face is shallowed by the light, painting him in grey and yellow. He looks like a painting. “No,” he decides, finally, and Kie huffs out a laugh. “Sort of average, for something so fucking expensive.”

“I thought Dad was gonna have an aneurysm,” she says.

“If I was gonna have to sit a table with some snobs and be a pain in the ass I may as well get a hot meal out of it.”

“Even if it was average.”

“At least I can say I’ve eaten steak,” he says.

She smiles at him, dares touch the tip of her shoe against his. “Hey,” she says, “thanks for coming tonight. I know it was weird.”

“It’s okay,” he says. “Sort of fun.”

“Sort of awkward.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“I’ll get you your money by next week.”

“You don’t need to pay me,” he says.

“Yes, I do,” she says, “after what I put you through. Especially—now.”

He raises an eyebrow at her. “Don’t change because you know my dad used to hit me. I hit him, too. I can throw a mean fucking punch.”

She looks down at his hand, curled, resting on his leg. Dusted in blond hair, long dexterous fingers, fingers for piano, or painting, creating, not construction. Three of the knuckles on his hand are scabbed over, dark purple, like the colour of a plum, and white around the edges where he picked at them. She doesn’t doubt it. JJ seems like the kind to go down fighting.

He is the strangest of juxtapositions, golden and split red. Kie finds she can’t pull her eyes away from him.

“Besides,” he says, lightly, “we can just call it even if you let me buy you dinner one day.”

Kie’s eyes flick up to his. There’s something almost apprehensive in his gaze, like he’s just waiting for her to turn him down. Daring her to do it gently. Get it over with, his expression says. Don’t make this hard for me.

She couldn’t even if she tried.

“Okay,” she says.

JJ’s face flickers. “Okay?” he says.

“Okay,” she says. “You can take me out for dinner.”

“You’re not just saying that because my dad hit me?” he says.

“Why would I do that?”

“I don’t fucking know, sympathy?”

“You think I’d let you take me out because of _sympathy_? Jesus, you asshole.”

He smiles. “Well, I know I am. Felt shitty that you had to live with those bastards for eighteen years.”

“So you thought you’d make it up to me with dinner?”

“Yeah.”

“Makes sense.”

“I’d hope so.”

She nudges her knee against his. Her dress has ridden up: it’s skin against skin. He is warmer than she is expected. “Okay,” she says, “dinner.”

“Dinner,” JJ says, and it feels like a promise.

It’s been a shit night – but she thinks this may just have been worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://smileymikey.tumblr.com/)


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